eleanor rigby

 

She is still in a dream. She wears a face she keeps in a jar by the door. Wonder who's it for.

Eleanor Rigby shares her life with a name. A lonely name, shared the world over because of the song. But it's been a while since the Beatles came and went. The Beatles always meant something feel-good, reminescent, even if just a cross-cultural fad. They meant something.  Now, Eleanor Rigby is counting her steps to her new office where she is going to work for the next twenty four hours, doing 2 shift weeks straight. She hasn't slept properly for days, not taken a proper bath, shoving meals in her mouth while standing her job.

She is going to take the meagre pay home, and she isn't going to argue with her boss about a raise. It's been like this for the last seven years. She never has the heart, or the courage, to ask for a raise.

Clutching her coffee in her left hand, she side steps across the street and walks through. Her face and gait of walking are well-recorded across street cameras. Motion sensors along the street recognize her by her feet pressure. She wonders if she will stop existing after they record everything about her. She wonders if all of them will stop existing.

In her sleep-deprived, substance-abused head, she thinks of the song over and over and over again today. There weren't many who used to tease her with the name. People had always told her it was a wonderful song, and she always smiled back. Until she was old enough to want to know about it, and one day, she had read its lyrics.

Her life bent and changed and went out of all shape for a few moments after she realized who Eleanor Rigby was. The one who lies buried, and no one ever comes. Why had her parents named her after the song? Was it coincidence? Being an orphan, and with no known relative, she never got to know.

She remembers the screeching violins. She wonders where the lonely people come from.

She knows she came from the song.

After today, she will go back home and there won't be anyone to welcome her at the door. Just  a few automated artificially intelligent sensors. It's been more than half a century since the song came out. Why does she always feel the song trapped her inside?

Where do all the lonely people really come from?

Why does Eleanor Rigby always feel the song won't let her go? Won't let her out in the universe of real? Why does life feel like that song so much?

She doesn't know.

 

eleanor rigby - The Beatles

The End

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